Never Gonna Hold The Hand Of Another Guy
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: post-ep for "Tell Me Where It Hurts" 100% Carby
1. Never Gonna Hold The Hand Of Another Guy

Title: Never Gonna Hold The Hand Of Another Guy  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Spoilers: Well, I must say, if you haven't seen "Tell Me Where It Hurts," you'll probably be quite  
lost. A general working knowledge of season 9 is probably necessary for this, too. There's also a  
very small reference to "Secrets & Lies," but you may not even catch it. I'd also recommend  
reading my other stories because they all kind of tie in together. Plus, I'd just like everyone to  
read my other stuff :)  
  
Archive: Just ask.  
  
Disclaimers: Not mine. I just like to borrow them from time to time so they can play in my  
universe. I always return them safe and sound.  
  
Feedback: Loved, honored, and adored. If you email me, I'll respond to you, too–I'm just that  
kind of person.  
  
  
  
  
  
God...why?  
  
Why Eric? And why now? Why did this have to happen? I honestly don't think I can take this  
right now. I don't think I could take this ever.   
  
My little brother. Of all people, why him? It should have been me. If there was someone else in  
my family who was going to wind up being manic-depressive, it should have been me. Someone  
should have escaped relatively unscathed.  
  
Really, I should have known that something was going to happen. It was a given. Things were  
going too well for me. I'm in a great relationship with a wonderful man, we're just about living  
together, I have easy access to my brother so I can see him more often, and my mother has been  
doing so well lately. It just makes sense that something would happen now of all times. And,  
yeah, I realize that I'm being selfish and petty and thinking about myself when it's really my  
brother who's going through all this right now. Know what, though? I could care less–it IS  
happening to me. Something like this doesn't just happen to one person, it happens to the entire  
family and everyone else around that family. And everybody has to think about themself, even in  
the midst of being concerned about family. If I don't think about me, if I'm not concerned with  
me at the same I'm worried about Eric, then no one will be.  
  
Well, that's not true. I have John. And he's thinking about me. He's concerned about me.  
  
I love that man. I'm so happy that I have him with me during this. Because I really don't think  
I'm strong enough to deal with this on my own. And I know that when I break down, he'll be  
strong enough for the both of us. Because he's that kind of man. And he loves me just as much  
as I love him. It's such an unbelievable comfort to know that he's there by my side. If I have him  
with me, I can get through anything. Correction; WE can get through anything.  
  
I think, of all the people I know in this world, Carter is the only one who has ever even really tried  
to understand what this is like for me. I don't know if he has necessarily agreed with every choice  
I've made regarding my mother, but at least he's been supportive. He was there when I needed  
him, and he didn't try to force me into a decision that I didn't feel was right. I don't know how I  
ever lived my life without him.  
  
Oh, I think most ironic thing of the past few hours has to be that I keep focusing on something  
Eric said to me earlier. I mean, when I'm not thinking about the fact that he's bipolar, and that he  
thinks I called the MP on him, and that I don't know where he is. He said that the three of us  
should fly to Vegas and find a wedding chapel so Carter and I could "take care of business." Why  
is this the thing that's sticking out in my mind? I really don't have time to think about marriage at  
the moment, and I'm pretty sure it hasn't really crossed John's mind, either. But I can't help  
thinking about how, if Eric hadn't been manic when he suggested it, I probably wouldn't have  
brushed the idea off the way I did. Eloping doesn't sound half bad. Especially right now, with  
Carter being so amazingly wonderful. All I want to do is hold on to him and never let go.  
  
Marriage really isn't something to think about right now. Even in the best of situations, I think  
that scenario is still a long way off. I would not quantify this as the best of situations. Not by a  
long shot. I don't know. I suppose I keep thinking about it because it's something normal. It's  
something normal people do every day of their normal lives. And, God, would I love to be  
normal right now. I would enjoy that greatly. I'd probably go so far as to say that it would be  
fantastic. Carter and I could just lead our happy little lives, maybe someday plan a happy little  
wedding, buy a happy little house, have a happy little family. I don't know if he realizes that  
having a family is becoming a smaller and smaller possibility for me at this point. It has nothing to  
do with my biological clock, but more to do with becoming increasingly worried about my  
children being sick. I would love them no matter what, but I just don't know if I could put  
someone through that.  
  
I'm pretty secure with the knowledge that Carter will support me in whatever choice I make, just  
as I'll do the same for him. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I don't know if we'll ever even get  
married, never mind have children. Ah, who am I kidding? We'll get married. You'd think that  
after being married once, I would have learned my lesson, but the more time I spend with John,  
the more certain I am of him and his commitment to me. I really have a hard time not seeing us  
together in the long run.  
  
And this is the kind of thing I've been thinking of all day. Of course, I suppose it's better than  
having a panic attack about my brother. It keeps my mind off of the really heavy stuff and lets me  
think about how life could actually be happy all around in the future. Well, God willing, a happy  
future.  
  
Focus on the now, Abby. Focus on the now. And right now, Carter and I are just holding each  
other. At this point, I'm not sure if it's me who's holding on to him for dear life, or if it's him  
holding on to me like that. I don't suppose it really matters. It just feels really nice right now.   
He's not going anywhere. That's so impossibly wonderful to hear right now. Because I need him  
so much.  
  
I can't believe I almost drank tonight. What is wrong with me? I may have wanted things to  
stop, but I should know from personal experience that drinking has never actually done that. It  
may put things on hold for a while, but it never makes anything stop. I guess it must say  
something about me and my increasing reluctance to drink and disappoint John if it took me  
nearly two hours to pour a glass and that I didn't even manage to take a sip. I just couldn't bring  
myself to do it. Buying the wine was just an impulse, but as I was bringing it home, I thought  
about it more and more, and it just didn't make sense to me. I couldn't understand why I was  
going to drink. I think I thought I was supposed to. It was something I used to do when my life  
turned upside down.  
  
I left it out on purpose, though. I wanted Carter to know. I said I wasn't going to hide anymore,  
and I meant that. And if I had just thrown it away and pretended nothing had happened, that  
would definitely be hiding. I needed him to know what I had tried to do, and that I hadn't  
actually managed to do it. It was important to me that he knew what was happening.  
  
"I'm sorry about the wine," I manage to mumble against his neck, sniffling a little in the process.   
I hope he isn't too fond of this sweater because it may be drenched with tears shortly.  
  
"It's okay, Abby. I understand." He rubs my back soothingly, and it feels wonderful. I've  
always found it amazing how someone, especially Carter, can just rub my back and it makes me  
feel better, if only fractionally. "There's just one thing I want to know."  
  
"Anything."  
  
"Why did you leave it out? I mean, you could have thrown it away, and I never would have  
known."  
  
What, is he reading my mind or something? I wouldn't be surprised. He always seems to have  
this knack for knowing exactly what it is I'm feeling or thinking the moment it's happening.   
Another one of the reasons why I love him so damn much.  
  
"I think that's exactly why. I didn't want to hide it from you. It was important that you knew  
about it. I wanted you to know that I'd bought alcohol, but that I hadn't been able to drink it." I  
felt a sob bubble up through my chest and it came out somewhere between a laugh and a choke.   
"God, I'm such a screw up."  
  
"No, hon, no you're not. Accidents happen. I know this isn't easy for you and you were just  
looking for comfort. The important thing is that you didn't drink, all right? That's what counts."  
  
Yeah, I guess that's what–wait. What did he just call me? Hon? We've never used terms of  
endearments before, unless you count "Carter" as a term of endearment. Okay, okay. Eye on the  
ball, Lockhart. Eye on the ball. It doesn't matter right now. But it does. Because, somehow, it  
was exactly what I needed to hear. How does he do that?  
  
I can't help it; I slide off of my chair and onto his lap, pulling myself closer to him. "You just  
called me 'hon,'" I whisper.  
  
He pauses for a moment, then says, "I did?"  
  
I nod a little. "Yeah. I said I was a screw up and you said, 'No, hon, no you're not.'"  
  
I feel him smile against my hair a little. "I hadn't even realized it. Does it bother you?"  
  
"No. Not in the slightest. I really liked it, actually."  
  
"This could open up a whole new door for us," he says, and by the tone of his voice, I can tell that  
he's teasing me.  
  
"I wouldn't go that–"  
  
"Sweetie."  
  
"Well–"  
  
"Darling."  
  
"Uh–"  
  
"Dumpling."  
  
"Hang on–"  
  
"Pookie?"  
  
I shove his shoulder gently, chuckling all the same. "You know, muffin, the couch may be a  
pullout, but it's not that comfortable. And with that bad back of yours, I don't imagine you'd  
enjoy it at all."  
  
He gives me a gentle squeeze, and says softly, "But, it made you smile, didn't it?"  
  
I smile a little wider, even though he can't see it. "Yeah, I guess so."  
  
"That was all I wanted." He pulls away from me a little so he can look at me. "To see you  
smile."  
  
I guess that's what finally breaks me. I feel my eyes well up with tears and in a matter of seconds,  
I'm sobbing like a baby. He pulls me back into his arms and I cry into his shoulder. He starts  
rubbing my back again, and it helps a little, but I can't seem to even make the tears slow down.   
And Carter, bless his pointed head, doesn't tell me to "shh," doesn't tell me that everything will be  
all right, doesn't try to make me feel better with promises he can't keep, doesn't say anything. He  
just lets me cry. I still really want to know how he's held out this long without someone snapping  
him up and marrying him. No one else does this. At least, no one that I'm aware of. I'm so  
unbelievably lucky to have him. It feels like he was made especially for me, as sappy as that  
sounds, even in my own mind. But, if I didn't know better, and I guess I really don't, I'd say that  
the two of us really had been made for each other, even if it took us a long time to get to this  
place. For some reason, these thoughts make me cry harder. He doesn't question it, though. He  
just holds me and lets me cry.  
  
Suddenly, I realize that he's standing up and taking me with him. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm bringing you to bed," he answers softly, moving toward the bedroom.  
  
"But, your back–"  
  
He cuts me off. "My back is fine. You're not."  
  
Can't argue with that. Because I'm about as far from "fine" right now as I could be. At the same  
time, though, I'm so happy simply because I have someone that cares enough about me to carry  
me to bed, even though he has a bad back.   
  
I think I'm just a big ball of contradictions right now. But it's understandable, given the  
circumstances.  
  
He brings me into the bedroom and sets me down on the floor. Then he gently removes my shirt  
and pants, and then my bra, leaving me just in my underwear. He goes over to the bureau to pull  
out my pajamas, but I stop him.  
  
"Carter?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Can I...uh...wear one of your shirts tonight? I know it's an odd request, but I would–"  
  
"Of course." He smiles at me, and I know he understands. "What shirt do you want? T-shirt,  
button-down..."  
  
"I don't care, just as long as it's yours."  
  
"Well, would you rather have an actual one of mine, or one of mine that you've managed to  
pilfer?" He gives me a teasing grin, and I can see a slight sparkle in his eyes, letting me know that  
he doesn't mind that I've stolen some of his shirts.  
  
For my part, though, I look down mock-meekly and say, "One of yours, please."  
  
He goes to the closet and pulls out a white dress shirt; it's one I know he's had for a few years  
and his smell is permanently etched into it. Exactly what I need right now.  
  
But, instead of handing it to me so I can put it on, he comes over and actually dresses me. He  
slides it up over my arms and shoulders, then buttons it up for me. I think what's really amazing  
is that I allow him to do it. I never would have let anyone else do this for me.  
  
As soon as he's finished, I wrap my arms around him once more. "Thank you," I whisper.   
"Thank you for taking care of me."  
  
"I love you, Abby. Part of this whole being together thing includes us taking care of each other.   
And you know me, I love to take care of you. It makes me happy just to be there for you. I  
know that probably sounds really mushy and sentimental, but that's just how I feel."  
  
I place a kiss over his heart, even though he still has his sweater on. He has such a wonderful  
heart. "Thank you, anyway."  
  
"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you."  
  
We stand like that for a few minutes, just wrapped in each other's arms. It feels fantastic. I've  
learned that sometimes, there's nothing better in life that simply holding and being held by  
someone. Just the safe, secure feeling you get from it can be the best thing in the world.  
  
Finally, he brings me over to the bed and helps me ease into it. "You need to sleep," he tells me.   
"I'm not going to say that things will look better in the morning, because we both know that's a  
bunch of crap, but at least if you get some rest, you'll have more energy to deal with everything."  
  
I don't fight him; I know it's the truth. I don't know how much sleep I'll actually be able to get  
tonight, but I can try. And at the very least, I'll have Carter beside me.  
  
A few moments later, he has stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and is crawling in beside  
of me. Immediately, like I'm a magnet, I roll over and wrap myself around him. I'm craving  
physical contact at the moment. I meant it when I said I needed something to hold on to–mentally  
and physically. And he's the perfect thing for me to hold.  
  
He lets me cling to him as tightly as I need to, and he holds me just as close, letting me know  
without saying it that he's there for me, and will always be there for me.  
  
Amazingly enough, I can feel sleep creeping up on me. I didn't think I'd be able to manage sleep  
tonight, but I forgot how exhausting sobbing your eyes out can be. Speaking of which, I hadn't  
even noticed that I'd stopped crying. Huh. That's kind of funny. I don't know exactly why it's  
funny. I usually notice when my tears subside, though. I guess it was some point between him  
picking me up in the kitchen and tucking me into bed.  
  
I can tell I'm fading; my thoughts are completely jumbled right now. That's okay. Sleep is good.   
Sleep with John is even better. Thank God he's here. He's like my oxygen at this point. And I'm  
really all right with that.  
  
"I love you," I whisper into his neck.  
  
He kisses my forehead. "Love you more."  
  
I don't think that's possible.  
  
  
  
  
Author's notes: I didn't know exactly where this story was going to go when I started writing it.   
I just knew that I needed to write something. I think it's a little different than my other stuff, in  
that it's not pure sap, but I think it's halfway decent.   
  
About the title of the story–got it from a Dixie Chicks song called "Travelin Soldier." It's an  
amazing song. And after "Tell Me Where It Hurts," it reminded me a little of Eric, and of Carter.   
I don't know why; it could just be me, but I like it.  
  
Remember that whole feedback thing, too–it's appreciated more than you'll ever know. I don't  
mind criticism, but don't be a schmuck about it–constructive is good...destructive, not good. 


	2. Beyond The Distant Star

Title: Beyond The Distant Star  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Spoilers: Up to and including "Tell Me Where It Hurts."  
  
Archive: Do I even need to say it?  
  
Disclaimer: You know the drill.  
  
Feedback: I'll give you a cookie!  
  
Author's Notes: As always, at the bottom. Oh, and this formatting issue I'm having with FFN is killing me...I'm trying to fix it.  
  
No rest for the weary.  
  
Isn't that how the expression goes? Who knows.  
  
At this point, I don't think I could boil water properly, so I shouldn't expect myself to be able to remember old expressions or words of wisdom or whatever.  
  
This is the second or third night in a row that I've gone without sleep. Well, that's not entirely true. I've gotten about three or four hours a night, sometimes it's even consecutive.  
  
I'm way too worried to sleep right now. I'm exhausted, both mentally and physically. I'm so worried about Eric that I'm making myself sick. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hang on before I pass out. But I just can't sleep. I'll fall asleep for a few hours every night, but then I snap awake, anxiety gripping my stomach and tying it into knots.  
  
Carter knows. I know he knows that I'm not sleeping, but he hasn't called me on it. He knows that if I need him, I'll tell him. Okay, well, I always need him, but I just need time right now to sort things out in my head. And it's easier to do it alone at the moment.  
  
Yeah, sleep isn't happening right now. I finally give it up and slide out of bed, careful not to wake John. One of us should get some rest.  
  
I grope around in the dark, trying to find my bathrobe. All right, so it's technically Carter's bathrobe, but I use it all the time, and I'm really not in the mood to argue semantics, even if it's only in my mind.  
  
I wander over to the window and look out at the city, fast asleep. I consider going outside to sit on the fire escape to ponder the meaning of life or whatever it is my mind wants to do at...I look at the clock. Almost 2:30 in the morning. But I decide against that. I don't want to wake Carter, and either me opening the window, or the cold November wind will definitely do that. So, I settle for standing there at the window, just watching. Wondering. Thinking.  
  
I can't find Eric. I have no idea where he is, and no one's willing to give me any answers. You would think that since I am an actual family member, they would tell me something. Just so I could know where to find him.  
  
He's sick and he needs my help. And I need to talk to him. I have to let him know that I didn't turn him in, that I would never do that to him. I have to make sure that he's all right, and that he's being given the correct treatment.  
  
I bite my lip. I will not cry. Not again. I can't waste anymore time or energy on tears. They're not getting me anywhere.  
  
Regardless, I'm going to cry. The tears are already stinging my eyes. I clamp a hand over my mouth and look over at Carter's sleeping form, making sure he hasn't woken up.  
  
I turn and hurry into the bathroom, carefully shutting the door behind me. I don't know what my problem is, but I don't want Carter to know that I'm crying. Just because I cried in front of him the other night doesn't mean I'm going to make a habit out of it.  
  
Old habits die hard, I suppose.  
  
I know he's not going to look at me in disgust and think, "Oh, God, she's crying again." But I just can't handle the thought of breaking down in front of him again. Not to mention the fact that I don't want to wake him up just so I can cry about the same thing once one more time.  
  
I go over to the bathtub and turn on the water, letting it run. Then I sit on the edge of the tub and bury my face in my hands, trying to muffle my sobs further.  
  
I've been here before. Too many times before. I learned this trick while I was married to Richard. He'd get highly pissed off at me when I accidentally woke him up by crying, and even more pissed when he had to check on me to make sure I was all right. It finally occurred to me that he couldn't hear me over running water because I'd cried in the shower and he never asked if I was all right. So, I'd go into the bathroom at night, turn on the water, and cry over my crazy mother. It never bothered him if I was taking a random shower or bath in the middle of the night, and I don't think he ever suspected anything. I carried on the tradition with Luka.  
  
Looks like we're going for lucky number three.  
  
Except this time, I'm crying over my crazy brother.  
  
But I've burdened John enough in the past few days. The last thing he needs to deal with is his hysterical girlfriend.  
  
And I am pretty close to hysterical at the moment. I can't seem to control my crying. Instead of slowing down, it's getting worse. I'm having trouble taking a deep breath, my whole body is shaking, and my lap is actually wet from the tears rolling down my face. But I can't get a grip on myself. This is just too much. I would probably find all of this funny if it wasn't so completely awful. The world just doesn't like the Wyczenski family.  
  
Suddenly, I feel a hand on my knee and I gasp, my entire body tensing up as I fling into a more upright sitting position.  
  
"Abby, what're you doing?"  
  
I quickly try to wipe away me tears, even though I know it's pointless. "Nothing. I just needed some time to think."  
  
"Uh huh." Yeah, I didn't think he'd believe me.  
  
He kneels down in front of me, trying to look at my face, but I keep turning away from him, not wanting him to see how bad I really feel. Finally, he takes my face in his hands and gently forces me to look at him.  
  
"Why're you crying in the bathroom with the water running?"  
  
I shrug. He doesn't need to know that this is an old habit of mine.  
  
He doesn't say anything. He just turns off the faucet and waits for me to say something.  
  
What am I supposed to say? That I'm so used to crying alone, to not letting anyone in, that I don't know if I can break the cycle at this point?  
  
Actually, that's probably not the worst idea. I mean, he's here, isn't he? Sitting with me in the bathroom.  
  
Instead, I settle for another part of the truth. "I didn't want to wake you."  
  
He just raises his eyebrows at me. "Abby, you have to realize that by this point, I wake up every time you leave the bed. Even if fall right back to sleep, I still know when you're not there. And I did go back to sleep for a little while, but you didn't come back to bed, so I woke up again. And I worried. Especially with the water running like that."  
  
I have no response for that. How could I say anything to that? I'm even having trouble processing it in my mind. How could I have not known that he was so acutely attuned to me that he knows when I randomly get out of bed at night? And I thought I was pretty good at doing that sort of thing, but I doubt I become aware of it every time.  
  
He strokes my hair back from my face and tries to wipe away the never ending stream of tears off one of my cheeks. "You don't have to cry alone anymore, you know. I'm here for you."  
  
I tear my eyes away from his and look down at my hands in my lap. "I didn't want to bother you," I whisper.  
  
There's no response from him. I finally chance looking at him again, and he looks stunned.  
  
"You can't find your brother, you haven't been sleeping, you're sitting in the bathroom at night, crying, and you're worried about bothering me? You never bother me, Abby. I don't think it's possible for you to bother me."  
  
I feel a fresh wave of tears overcome me. "You've had to deal with me enough lately. I didn't think you needed to lose sleep just because I've been an emotional train wreck the past few days."  
  
"This is what being a couple is all about. If something's bothering you, I want to be able to try and help. You have every reason in the world to be upset at the moment. I don't want you to ever feel that you can't talk to me about something."  
  
"There's nothing to talk about. I'm just scared. That's why I'm crying."  
  
"That's okay, too. I don't mind being a shoulder for you to lean on when you want to cry."  
  
I remain silent. I don't know how to deal with this. I can handle it when my boyfriend is either completely ignorant or pretending to be ignorant to my crying, but I have no idea what to do in this kind of situation. It's not something I ever prepared myself for.  
  
Before I even realize what he's doing, Carter pulls me down onto his lap, cradling me as if I'm a child. It feels nice. And I'm really in no place to argue with him.  
  
"So, you wanna tell me what all this is about?"  
  
I look at him, confused. I would think he'd know exactly why I'm crying right now. "You mean, you want to know why I'm crying?"  
  
"No, I'm pretty sure I have that part figured out. What I don't understand is why I found you in here with the water running."  
  
Looks like I'm going to have to tell him after all. I didn't really think he'd forget about it, though.  
  
"I didn't want you to hear me crying," I mumble into his shoulder.  
  
"Yeah, but..." I sigh a little. "Richard didn't like dealing with me when I cried, so I started running water when I needed to cry so he wouldn't hear me. And I guess I just never got out of the habit."  
  
"Your own husband didn't want to take care of you when you were upset?" He sounds completely appalled. "I don't even know the man and I can't stand him."  
  
"Like I've said, it wasn't the best marriage."  
  
"Even so, if you were upset, it shouldn't be a burden to take care of you."  
  
"He thought I was overreacting most of the time. Maggie was more of an inconvenience to him, and he was worried that someone important would find out about her, and he'd have no chance of rising in society. "  
  
Carter kisses my forehead. "And you married him why?"  
  
"It seemed like a good idea at the time?"  
  
He chuckles softly at that. "Abby...I love you so much. I never want you to think you have to suffer alone. No more of this crying in the bathroom with the water running thing, okay? I don't mind if you wake me up because you need to cry or talk or whatever. I'm here for you."  
  
You know, I'm not a religious woman. I'm about as far from religious as a person can get. But I think I'm becoming a believer, because the only explanation for this man's presence in my life is divine intervention. Maybe I should take him to Vegas, find an Elvis wedding chapel, and take care of business. I sure as hell know that I'm never letting this man go.  
  
"I can't promise anything," I tell him.  
  
"I know you can't. But at least promise me you'll try. I know this kind of thing doesn't just go away over night, but it's something we can work on together. Just try to remember that I want to be here for you."  
  
"I'll try."  
  
He wraps his arms around me tighter and lets it go. He knows that's all I can offer at the moment, even if I want to give him more. It's got to be one step at a time.  
  
But, for the first time in a while, I feel like I'm taking a step in the right direction.  
  
Some time later, I feel him smoothing my hair back from my face, and he asks, "You feeling any better?"  
  
"A little." My voice is hoarse and scratchy from all the tears.  
  
"You wanna go back to bed?"  
  
I shrug. I don't think I'll get any sleep, so it doesn't matter where I am while I'm awake.  
  
"You don't have to sleep."  
  
I try not to react to his ability to read my mind. Or at least his ability to read me.  
  
"I'll be able to hold you better if we're in bed, though."  
  
"Carter, you don't have to stay awake just because I can't sleep."  
  
"I know I don't have to. But making sure you're all right is more important to me than sleep. I can worry about sleep later. You're my top priority."  
  
Wow. I don't think I've ever been anyone's top priority before. Once again, it's something I don't know how to deal with.  
  
I move my legs so my feet are on the ground, and try to stand up. It's not easy because my legs have been curled up in a fetal position for so long, but I manage. Carter's only an instant behind me, keeping an arm around my waist as we go back to bed. He brings me over to my side and tucks me in.  
  
"Do you need anything?" he asks softly.  
  
I shake my head. "Only you."  
  
He leans down and gives me a gentle, lingering kiss on my forehead before returning to bed. He immediately pulls me into his arms, forming a protective cocoon around me. We remain silent for a while, and I'm pretty sure he's either asleep, or about to drift off.  
  
"We'll find him, Abby," he whispers. I smile a little, despite the circumstances. He didn't go to sleep. "We'll get him all the help he needs. I promise."  
  
It's not an empty, placating promise just to make me feel better. He means it. I know he-we-will do everything in our power to help Eric.  
  
I bring one of his hands up to my lips and kiss the palm. "I love you."  
  
And for the first time in days, I sleep soundly.  
  
Author's Notes: I started writing this one...probably almost a year ago, not long after I finished the first part of this. I wrote a couple of paragraphs and let it go because I didn't know what to do with it. Then C- dawg wanted to read my unfinished works, and she gave me some ideas about what to do. This chick rocks, it must be said. The title's from a Josh Groban song, "To Where You Are." I came across it while looking for the title of a different fic, and C-dawg (once again) asked if I was going to use it for this fic (which I wasn't-I hadn't even thought it about this one), and I liked the idea, so there you go. I definitely need to give a shout out to the Shakespearean Brothel (you know who you are), and of course, the Shakespearean Whore, because without the Whore, the Brothel would be nothing. 


End file.
